And it would. Either because we'd turn them back, or they'd run out of people to slaughter. One way or the other, it was coming down there.
We'd picked the place to make our stand.
The moon was beautiful, a crescent of silver floating in the black sky. The city lights of Syrene and Aswan were dark, each side keeping information from the enemy. Jonathan sat on the street, his hands on his knees, looking up at the stars.
"Hey," Simoon's voice said. "Bugsy."
He looked over his shoulder. The woman stood in the doorway of the restaurant. The voices raised in debate behind her sounded oddly joyful for a council of war.
"How's it going in there?" he asked.
Simoon stepped forward, letting the door close behind her. The voices didn't vanish, but they grew distant.
"It'll be a while before anyone decides anything," she said. "But I think it's going well. What about you?"
"I could sleep right here in the gutter," Jonathan said. "Seriously. Just stretch out and snooze off."
"Probably should. Rest, I mean. Not the gutter part."
"Yeah. I'll get to it," he said.
"I wanted to say thanks."
Jonathan looked up at her. She was prettier than he remembered. She'd been good-looking, but now in the moonlight, with her hair down, she was beautiful.
"Thanks?"
"For butting in," she said. "For listening in on my phone calls. For getting John Fortune involved. All like that. I wouldn't have had the balls."
"I'm not sure I really did you any favors," he said.
Simoon shook her head, her gaze lifting to the buildings, the horizon, the sky.
"No," she said. "I'm glad. I've never actually been here, you know. But I'm from here. So, you know, thanks."
"Anytime," Jonathan said.
There's a real problem playing defense. We didn't get to pick when the shit came down. That was all them. The Living Gods took their aces and a bunch of guns across to Sehel Island. Hardhat went too, the theory being that he could build a temporary bridge with his girders to evacuate if the army managed to land there.
Then we got ready.
"Harder!" Bubbles said.
Rustbelt raised his balled fist, and then lowered it. "Ah, cripes. This is just . . . I mean . . ."
Bubbles, now looking like a woman of a healthy hundred and seventy pounds, put a hand on Rustbelt's arm and tried to keep her temper.
"Sweetie," she said. "We have to get these bubbles in the air, or it's only going to be Simoon's sandstorm to stop all the planes and helicopters they throw at us. So it's not really me you're hitting. It's them. Just think of it like that, okay?"
Rustbelt smiled, but the expression seemed forced.
"You ready to try again?" Bubbles asked.
"Sure," Rustbelt said. "Let's try it."
"Okay. Beat the shit out of me."
Rustbelt closed his eyes and swung. The impact sounded like a car wreck. Bubbles put on another thirty pounds.
"Much better," Bubbles said. "Do that again."
"Okay," Rustbelt said. "You know, this is really uncomfortable, though." Bubbles nodded. "That speaks well of you, sweetie. Now hit me."
Well, folks, we didn't know what dam they'd cross at, only that we had to hold them off at the places where they'd only be able to get at a few of us at a time. Lohengrin, Curveball, Earth Witch, and Simoon were north with almost a hundred of the followers of the Living Gods, ready to get to the High Dam if they came across there. Holy Roller, King Cobalt, Fortune, Rustbelt, and Bubbles were at the Low Dam where they actually attacked. I went with all of them.
The Egyptian army came at us right at dawn. I always thought that was a cliché, you know? "We attack at dawn." Turns out there's a reason. The sun really does get in your eyes. Well, not mine, since I was mostly bugged out by that point.
The boats chugged out from the east bank, dark marks in the sun-bright water. Hardhat and Sobek squatted by the shore. The croc-headed joker hunkered down, his hand shading his eyes.
"This could be a problem," Sobek said. "If they reach the island—"
"Those dick-lickers have about as much chance of getting out here as I've got of ass-fucking Mother Teresa," Hardhat said cheerfully. "Watch this shit."
The first girder appeared across the bow of the first boat, forcing the craft lower into the water. There was the distant sound of voice raised in alarm. A second girder appeared. The boat rode lower, water lapping up over its sides.
The other boats hesitated as the lead craft tried to turn back to the shore. A third girder appeared. The boat sank. The boats idled and then turned back.
Sobek chuckled.
"Elegant," he said. "Could you do that to all of them? If they all came at once?"
"Probably not," Hardhat said, folding his arms, "But I could fucking sure get the first two cocksuckers, and then let the pussies fight it out who gets to go third."
"They'll have to come by land, then," Sobek said.
It started with a few boats putting out from the east, back toward the islands. That was just a distraction. The big push was at the Low Dam.
It's eighty feet from the top of the Low Dam to the river north of it. The top of the dam is about as wide as a two-lane highway and about two miles long. We'd put some barricades across it—an old bus parked at an angle, a pickup truck Rustbelt tipped on its side, some cars we'd commandeered. Every hundred yards or so, out to almost the middle of the dam, we had something to hide behind. And on the far end, the army was making cover of its own.
That was where they came.
We didn't keep everyone. You should know that now. We lost one right off. But he didn't die a stupid death. Honest to God.
"It's a bulletproof shield," King Cobalt said, leaning against the upended pickup truck. "Like riot police use. I just hold it toward them like this, charge in, and when I get there, I'll rip 'em apart."
Rustbelt raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. The dam stretched out before them and behind them, water calm and glittering to the right, empty air to the left. King Cobalt crouched down behind his shield.
"Stay behind me," King Cobalt called out. "All of you just let me get in there and soften them up."
"Now, son," Holy Roller called out, "I think you had best come on back for a bit, the both of you. We may be seeing some enemy movement. At the far end—over there."
"I don't see anything," Rustbelt said, and a bullet ricocheted off his chest with a sound like a piston blowing. King Cobalt lowered his riot shield, sighed, and slid to the ground. Blood poured from the back of his neck.
"Medic!" Holy Roller yelled, pushing himself toward the fallen ace. "Get a medic over here! We got us a man down!"
"Oh, cripes," Rustbest said, rubbing the shiny spot the killing bullet had left on his skin. "I'm sorry, King. I didn't . . . we'll get someone . . . it'll be . . ."
Holy Roller reached the fallen ace, felt desperately for a pulse, and then shook his head. Leaning over carefully, the minister hooked a finger under the wrestler's mask and gently pulled it free. The thick body thinned and diminished.
"He's just a kid," Fortune said.
"Dear Lord," Holy Roller intoned. "I don't know if this poor boy believed in you. I don't even know his name, or if he was a Mexican, but he was a brave boy and he tried to do something good. I know you'll find a place for him in Heaven, wrestling with your angels. He did so love to wrestle."
They all cast their eyes down for a moment. When he looked up across the dam, the old minister's eyes were hard. On the far side of the dam, the sun was glittering off metal. A sound came like distant thunder that never stopped. Tanks were coming.
"Time's come," he said. "Get on the horn to the others. It's started."
The tanks came first, single file. Their guns were blazing, trying to keep us back while they pushed past or through the obstacles we'd placed in their way. It turns out if you send a bunch of wasps up the barrel of those things, it just gets you closer to the shell when it goes off. It wasn't pleasant. But then Rustbelt was in there, howling like a banshee, and the tanks started falling apart. They shot him. They shot him a lot. When the helicopters came, the detonations began. There was so much smoke in the air, I lost some wasps just to that.